


Battle Scars

by orphan_account



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hate to Love, Kiznaiver - Freeform, Kiznaiver AU, Knifeplay, M/M, Masochism, the main idea is explained in chapter one, you don't need to have seen kiznaiver to understand this!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-07-18 06:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7302352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shizuo and Izaya are now bound together by their pain due to a surgery by Shinra, and find themselves in a precarious situation-- if one is hurt, the other will be as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bound

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Kiznaiver AU, but like the tags say, you don't need to have seen the anime in order to understand this fic! The premise is explained in the first chapter, and the plot is original rather than based on the Kiznaiver anime. I hope you enjoy chapter one, kudos and comments are super appreciated!

The first thing Izaya became aware of was the frigidness of cold against his back-- the second, that he was without a shirt, which was at the very least, a troubling sign. Reflexively, his hand made to move toward the line of his hip where the pocket of his jacket would normally rest against, his blade weighting reassuringly. No such pocket were to await him, however, had he been able to reach far enough; rather, his rapid movement met his wrist with the resistance of metal and the quick halt to his momentum stung harshly. A hiss of pain sounded, and in his state of half-awakeness and disconnect, Izaya didn’t realize that it hadn’t, in fact, sounded from his lips. He lay there for a moment more, silently cursing the throbbing of his wrist before blinking his eyes open only to be blinded by an exceedingly bright fluorescent tube of light and immediately shutting them once more. A careful rotation of his neck and ankles affirmed that they too were constrained, and panic pushed the last dregs of grogginess out of his mind. Izaya couldn’t recall where he had last been and on what date, or whom he had most recently offended to end up in this predicament. His immediate conclusion was that due to his apparent placement in some setting that included a metal table complete with restrains and glaring overhead lighting, Nebula had finally found Namie and subsequently captured Izaya to experiment on as punishment, in which case there could be any number of odd toxins in his body at the moment.

However, aside from the sluggishness he was experiencing as a result of being incapacitated and the dull ache in his wrist that was already beginning to fade, his body seemed to be functioning as usual. Perhaps they were planning to operate on him while he was conscious? From what information he had gleaned in regards to Nebula, it didn’t seem out of the question to practice methods such as that. If so, it was most sensible to feign unconsciousness for a while longer, until the apparently empty room (judging by sound alone) gave him some insight to where he was and to who his captors were.

Apprehension kept Izaya awake, speculations of where he was and who had taken him racing through his mind quickly enough to be dizzying as he struggled to fish any connections from the murky depths of his short-term memory. However, he came up empty-- there were no recollections of being knocked out or mugged, or stabbed or shot for that matter. The water seemed to clear the slightest amount, the surface rippling into a foggy image of his office in Shinjuku. Namie had announced a visitor awaited him, someone who was important enough to warrant Izaya’s personal appearance and gesture of greeting them at the door. He was unsure whether that had, in fact, been the last event he was conscious to witness, though the act did hypothetically provide an opportunity to abduct him, were it someone Izaya believed wasn’t likely to pose a threat. Mikado, perhaps? No, the boy would have either called or private-messaged him in the chat. Had it been Celty, come to deliver a parcel? Though, what reason Celty would have to kidnap him, Izaya couldn’t possibly fathom. Just as he had begun to sort through frequent clients and visitors in correspondence to their proposed threat level, an all-too familiar voice put a face to his last guest.

“So you’re both, awake? Excellent!” It chirped, and without pause two reactions were exclaimed.  
  
“Shinra?!”  
  
“ _Both?!”_

There wasn’t time enough for Izaya to voice question to exactly _why_ Shinra had him strapped to an operating table, nor was there enough time to demand why _he_ was in the room as well. For the likewise all-too-familiar voice of Shizuo Heiwajima had begun the stir of adrenaline in his body that was honed reactionary for an immediate fight upon hearing the other’s low vocals. Once again he reflexively curled his hand in reach for his knife, once again his movement was restricted by the pang of metal against-- this time-- already bruised skin.  
  
The next few moments were unprocessable for their speed-- Shizuo’s reactionary inhale, Shinra’s gasp of delight, the sound of creaking and wrenching metal as it gave way under the strength of Shizuo’s wrists and ankles and neck alone, the heavy footsteps approaching in time with Izaya’s rapid pulse, that, before he knew it, was between the press of two large thumbs with the intent of cutting off the passage of air to his lungs.

“Shizuo, are you sure you want to attack Izaya while he’s held down like that?” Shinra called, and Izaya’s response of a strangled laugh only heavied the pressure against his neck.  
  
“He doesn’t play fair, either, Shizuo growled, and at the very moment Izaya’s laughter became silent there was a cough from the other man and hands released their encirclement of his neck.  
  
As Izaya steadied his breathing and attempted to his heartbeat, which in the presence of Shizuo was unlikely to calm, he frowned at the labor of breath coming from above him. Had Shinra choked Shizuo? The doctor wasn’t normally one for violence, nor conflict or intervention-- though with the abduction of both Shizuo and himself Izaya had lost all faith in his knowledge of his friend’s psyche. Perhaps he had finally lost it, after all.

Shizuo spoke before Izaya had the chance to choose his words. “What the fuck, Shinra. What the fuck is going on here.”

“I’m glad you asked!” The doctor sounded extraordinarily enthusiastic, even more so than usual, confirming Izaya’s suspicions of insanity.

“As much as I’d also like to know,” Izaya started, words gilded with a golden sheen of mockery.  “Perhaps it would be helpful if you graced me with the favor of releasing me, seeing as I’m not nearly inhuman enough to do it myself. Not to mention,” he continued, taunting edge of a smirk belying falsified terror in his voice, “who _knows_ what Shizu-chan would do to me in my current state. Even someone as coldhearted as you would give his friend a chance to retaliate. Right. Shinra?” But the provocation of either of the men in the room miscarried, as Shizuo simply grunted derisively and Shinra exclaimed “of course!” and within a minute Izaya was unrestrained, free to sit up and rotate and rub the tension and hurt out of his wrists and ankles and neck. Acutely he registered that Shinra was the only fully-clothed member of the trio, Shizuo missing a shirt just as Izaya was. Thrill and self-consciousness alike spiked renewed adrenaline through his veins, down his spine, making his body hum as his heart rate seemed to triple, pounding against his ribcage as if threatening attack.

Shizuo was avoiding Izaya’s gaze; rather, he was staring at Shinra with wide eyes betraying perplexion and something else-- anxiety, perhaps, the likes of which Izaya previously hadn’t been privy to. It was an odd, almost unsettling combination of Shizuo’s features, though not unwarranted given the situation; Izaya near wanted to keep taunting, whether with the cut of his words or his knife, if only to ease Shizuo’s expression back to familiarity-- a scowl or battle-crazed smile, narrowed brows, rage-shining eyes rather than _this,_ this look of alarm, of panic that discomforted Izaya on the grounds it made the other look far, far too human.

It was while he was massaging his right wrist idly that the mark caught Izaya’s eye. Out of his peripheral vision, it could have simply been dismissed as a forming bruise, but Izaya’s eyesight was sharp enough to note that the colors-- or color, rather-- were off; rather than the purpling blue of a fresh bruise, it was stark white, and upon closer examination, a thin line instead of an elliptical blotch. Reaching the edges of his wrist, and circling round the underside to end parallel to the start midway through a second line on the top, Izaya discovered as he rotated his forearm. Raising an eyebrow, Izaya turned toward Shinra, pausing to glance at Shizuo’s wrist to confirm his suspicions.

“Did you kidnap us to give Shizu-chan and I matching tattoos?” he inquired, flaunting his wrist towards the doctor.

“ _What?”_ One flicker of dark eyes from Shizuo’s wrist to Izaya’s extended one confirmed that there indeed were identical marks on both of their bodies. “ _What?!”_ A shout this time, as Shizuo stormed over to Shinra, who made no move to disengage the other man as he grasped Shinra’s arm-- with restraint, Izaya noted, as there was no tell-tale sound of bone breaking under pressure. Shoving his wrist in the other’s face, Shinra only blinked as Shizuo once more demanded knowledge of the situation, in a growl so low Izaya could near feel its vibrations.

Using his remaining hand to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Shinra finally spoke. “They’re surgical scars, actually. Not tattoos.” His voice was level, deadpan, as if the conclusion of the marks being _scars_ should have been evident.

The implications of what exactly, the color of the mark on his wrist meant if it was indeed a scar (and as deceptive as Shinra could be, the man didn’t seem to be untruthful) hit Izaya after a moment, causing his spine to stiffen as if frozen. It would have taken _weeks_ at the very least for the swollen red to fade to pink and then white, for the stitches to be removed lest they were internal. How long, exactly, had Izaya been unconscious? It wasn’t as if anyone would have noticed his absence, save for perhaps Namie, who would have likely given herself paid leave without further question, but his work… Would his incapacitation have put him out of a job? If, indeed, he had been out of commission for weeks, his missed appointments with the Yakuza and those far more dangerous would be likely to put him out of favor with many that were more than able to cause him harm, to say the least. However, it wasn’t his own safety that was on the forefront of his mind, but rather exactly how many of the happenstances in Ikebukuro and the rest of his jurisdiction he had gone unaware of in his slumber. The world had gone on without Izaya Orihara there to observe it.

“And exactly how long did you keep us out for?” Izaya’s voice was level, didn’t waver, betrayed none of the bristling anxiety he felt in anticipation of the response Shinra would give.  
  
Shizuo had released Shinra’s arm yet still remained his proximity, though the doctor was seemingly ignoring their closeness. “Only a few hours. The operation didn’t take more than a few minutes, fortunately! It was the anaesthetic that kept you out longer.”  
  
Relief was visible in Izaya’s eyes at the answer to his first question-- though nowhere else; his shoulders had already been lax, as had his facial features. No part of his body had given away even a hint of the apprehension he had felt, and no part would begin to do so despite the entirely new, terrifying question Shinra’s answer posed and Shizuo voiced for him.  
  
“What kind of fucking operation did you do, Shinra?! And why the hell did you do this?” Shizuo’s voice was trembling with barely-contained rage, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists as they shook by his side.  
  
Izaya watched as if amused, as if just not as infuriated as Shizuo, as if an amalgam of fury and horror, confusion and terror, and worst of all, betrayal, weren’t drowning his every thought. Despite Izaya’s vivid imagination, he couldn’t think of a single explanation Shinra could give that would be adequate justification for why he had forcibly _mugged_ Izaya and Shizuo, and brought them somewhere that most definitely was _not_ his back-room office in order to perform seemingly twin surgeries on the two bitter, bitter enemies. And most likely, there wasn’t one.

“How about I explain this whole ordeal?” The smile on Shinra’s face was a hauntingly familiar one, not because Izaya often saw it on his friend’s face, but because he often saw it on his _own._ A curve of the mouth with all the appearance of comfort, but with raw shrewdness behind it that only those familiar with this particular type of grin would be able to see. It was unsurprising, to Izaya at least, that the expression didn’t look at all foreign on Shinra-- having known the man since his adolescence, he was long since familiar with his friend’s selfish and calculating ways. Never before, however, had they been used on _him._

Rather than begin to speak immediately, Shinra began to walk to a small steel table in the corner that hadn’t caught Izaya’s eye, so focused was he on Shizuo and Shinra and the scar on his wrist. Off of it he picked up what appeared to be a curved sword, the handle plain brown with no intricacies or designs. There were no other instruments on the table, and as Izaya glanced hesitantly around the room for fear what he would find, noticed there were none residing on the few tables in the rest of the large room either. Perhaps Shinra had tucked them away to protect the two from killing each other upon waking? But then why leave the sword...

“Shinra, _please_ do not tell me you operated on us with a _sword_.” Only half-expecting the confirmation, Izaya blanched when Shinra nodded. Slightly discontented with himself for allowing the visibility of his gut reaction, Izaya glanced sideways towards Shizuo both to gauge the other’s reaction as well as ensure his eyes hadn’t been on him.

Shizuo had gone ghost pale-- every inch of skin had turned white, from the scar on his wrist to his knuckles up to his cheeks. He remained wordless, most likely hoping Shinra would pass if not just the sword but the entire situation as one of his morbid jokes, though entirely more elaborate than usual. But Shinra simply ran his fingers over the blade and began to talk, no humor present in his voice.

“This is Kizuna,” he began, eyes still trained to the sword. _Kizuna. A sword named ‘bond?’_ “She is, shall we say, a cousin of Saika.” _Saika’s… cousin?_ “That is, she connects people by cutting them, and likely has some sort of curse or magic within her.” _Connects…_ Neither Izaya, who had grown pale as well, nor Shizuo spoke, the dread that the two were somehow _connected_ now consuming both their thoughts and voices.

Maintaining his pensive gaze at the object in his hands, Shinra continued. “Her role is very different from Saika, though. There is no control connected to the owner. In fact, there’s no owner at all-- anyone may wield her. And, unlike Saika, not everyone who is cut by her is connected. Only those who share the same shaped scar.”  
  
Izaya gulped, staring at the mark on his wrist as he choked out his words, struggling to taint them with his usual air of distant interest. “And how, exactly, would we be connected?”  
  
It was then Shinra turned toward the two, brandishing the sword, the grin on his face tinged with mania. For a moment Izaya was certain he was going to kill him, or perhaps Shizuo, which would be a weight off of his shoulders, and as Shinra approached the blond an unfamiliar, uncomfortable panic rose in Izaya’s chest, flooding his lungs and stopping his heart. It was fear that if Shizuo died he would die too, with this new connection-- it must be. There wasn’t another explanation for the rising sense of terror he was feeling-- it lessened as Shizuo grabbed the other’s wrist, not quite hard enough to be bone-shattering, but Shinra, at the last moment, dragged the blade lightly against Shizuo’s hand, just lightly enough to break skin.

Timed seemed to slow as Izaya felt a stinging sensation on his hand, and he felt disconnected from himself. He heard his own voice his in pain, though he had been sure Shizuo was the one who had been cut, not him, and saw Shizuo’s eyes ricochet between him and Shinra, who was grinning with _pride_. What did he have to be proud of, Izaya wondered through his daze. Why…

As if someone popped a bubble, reality came crashing back as Izaya noticed that the dripping red on Shizuo’s hand was absent from his own. Shinra was no where near him, was standing with that same self-satisfied grin next to Shizuo who had dropped Shinra’s wrist in shock and was tracing the wound with a now stained crimson finger.

“Kizuna connects those with matching scars by their pain. If one is injured, the pain is split into equal parts for however many share the mark-- in your case, two. So, since I cut Shizuo, the pain was split between you two. In other words, if one of you feels pain, it will be lessened, but both of you will feel it. If one of you is bruised or bleeding, those physical marks will remain confined to whoever received them, but they should heal relatively quickly as an added benefit.” Returning the sword to its table, Shinra clapped his hands together and, grinning wildly, glanced back and forth between the two others who were staring in horror at one another.

Shizuo had regained his color, and his anger, so it would appear by the way he spoke through clenched teeth, fists clenched and shaking as they had earlier and fury igniting the brown of his irises. “Why the fuck would you connect me with that _flea_ ? Better yet, why the fuck do this at _all_?”

The smile on Shinra’s face seemed to undertake a melancholy undertone underneath the bright exterior that told Izaya he had been waiting for this very question, eager to provide an answer.

“You two have been at each other’s throats since you first met, and despite my attempts to get you to each tolerate each other, you still run around town chasing each other, throwing vending machine and knives and yelling each other’s names loud enough all of Ikebukuro can hear. I can’t count the number of times one of you has shown up at my door needing to be patched up from one of your fights, and since you’re my only friends I only wish you would get along! So, when my father told me of Kizuna, I figured it was a perfect way to bring you two closer. At the very least, you can’t hurt each other.”  
  
Shinra’s last words stung Izaya worse than any of the physical pain had, worse than the shock, worse than the fear. For they shattered his entire identity, sent cracks spiraling down the glass walls he lived behind, deep enough that they began to break apart, fracturing into hundreds of small pieces much sharper than his knife. The last eight years suddenly seemed meaningless-- all he had known was suddenly undone as his friend spoke five simple words.

“You can’t be enemies anymore.”


	2. Ache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-"operation" Izaya feels an ache in his chest, and calls to see whether Shizuo is the cause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you thought this fic was dead. Surprise! Two months later...
> 
> I'm rather fond of this chapter, so I hope everyone likes it as the return from hiatus. Kudos and comments are super appreciated!! <3

Despite his flair for dramatics, Izaya had, after making notice of his shirt and jacket folded without a crease under the faux hospital bed and re-donning them, ensuring his switchblade and cell phones hadn’t been tampered with or removed, made his exit wordlessly, without so much as a sarcastic remark or jab at either of the men in the room. Though, he had made a tragic error upon setting foot in the doorway to what he would momentarily find was an unused, sparsely furnished wing at Nebula-- Izaya had, in accidental allusion to Lot’s wife in Genesis, glanced back at Shinra. He did not turn to salt, as Shinra bore no resemblance to the God of the new or old testament, but ice trickled through his veins at the smile the doctor tossed his way. There was a finality to his grin, as though he was seeing Izaya off on a seafaring journey he was more excited for than the venturer himself, as if he wasn’t the one tying Izaya to the ship only to be lugged away at the mercy of the relentless waves. And it wasn’t the ship that would do him harm-- it was the unknown depths of the ocean that could work against the hull of the ship, turning wood to rot, or freeze to glaciers, puncturing an unfixable wound in its stern. Either way, Izaya was going to drown in the instance of too great a damage.

Navigating the building hadn’t proved challenging; Izaya had wandered the halls seeking an exit until one was in his sight. Shizuo hadn’t followed-- most likely due to his lack of intelligence he had stayed behind in order to comprehend Shizuo’s explanation, and Izaya, who had been imprinted by Shinra’s words as soon as they had left the other’s mouth, didn’t care to pander to Shizuo’s stupidity by remaining in the room, lest the other dare re-test Shinra’s demonstration, unnecessarily. There was no worth in a repeated, temporary bout of pain shared by the two enemies. After all, Izaya was sure they would have more than enough experience via linked pain of all types-- sharp, stabbing, cutting, aching, cramping. Their bodies were there own-- he wasn’t quite sure what he would have done had Shinra connected them physically-- but their experiences weren’t. Not anymore.

He could have argued, bargained, gambled, or manipulated, as he did best and often, though it would have been futile against his middle-school “friend,” deep-set as Izaya knew the procedure and process had been in his mind. It was rational not to waste his breath, he reminded himself from the leather couch in his apartment. After all, desperate were something Izaya was not, and he had never been one to beg or plead a hopeless cause, nor at all. 

Upon returning home, Izaya had first made note of the piece of paper taped to the fridge, informing him Namie had taken the next two days off after her boss had been kidnapped by his “perverted not-friend” and was being paid by Shinra in her absence. Air left his nostrils in a silent snort as he ripped the notice off the fridge, crumbled it into a wad, and tossed it to the trash bin, where it promptly bounced off the lid to hit the floor with a barely perceptible crinkle. He hadn’t bothered to pick it up-- perhaps the effects of the anaesthetic were still in his blood, as they were the most likely cause for the weariness and exhaustion weighing him down like it was iron in his body rather than medicine. 

The thoughts in his mind seemed to be metal as well, or perhaps sandstone, pebbled with fragments and half-formed sentences and ideas that were far too ingrained in the body of his consciousness to pull apart without a tool of some sort he was sure Shinra would have an exact name for. Shinra…

Had the man truly meant what he said, that he had done this procedure, this experiment, this  _ abomination _ in order to coax his friends into friendship themselves? Izaya hadn’t been under the impression the man cared enough about either to do so, had been under the impression he had given up after their first meeting, after graduation, after the disastrous 20th birthday coming of age “ceremony” he had duped the two foes into attending with him. Sure, Shinra had never shown an ounce of bias towards either, had proclaimed many times he only wished the two would get along, but to go to such an extent to fulfill his dream… 

Well, it wasn’t uncharacteristic of Shinra in the least to go to such extremes for selfish purposes, his wants were always in regards to  _ Celty, Celty _ and not Shizuo or Izaya, or the both. Most recently he had left them to their chases, their battles and brawls, had seemingly smartened enough as to not invite them to the same rare-occurring parties and events he hosted, though, then again, Izaya was never invited at all. He would have suspected favor of the blond if he didn’t know that to be untrue, Shinra had never shown bias despite knowing Shizuo for longer, despite their monochrome-contrasting personalities he was seemingly equally akin towards. Izaya had, on the occasions when he thought of Shizuo, mused over why the monster’s temper had never been set off by the doctor’s open heart, cold though it was to anyone aside his beloved. Wasn’t Shinra just the sort of person to push Shizuo over the edge with his rambles and habits and romantics? Everything he knew about the blond pointed to the fact, and yet…

And yet, it was Izaya who Shizuo showed predisposed hatred towards, despite him being a much more sensical and put-together person. The dislike was understandable of course, many people disliked him even though he loved them for the same reason he hated Shizuo due to his lacking of it, but if Izaya angered the other so, why didn’t Shinra? What was so different about their mutual friend that Shizuo’s anger was seemingly nonexistent around him unless Izaya was brought up? Surely his openness, his perversity, his bizarreness, his energy-- surely every trait about him would be irritating to Shizuo? Perhaps it was Shinra’s affinity to monsters that placated Shizuo, or perhaps he was just that desperate for a friend.

Izaya was drifting towards the lull of sleep when he noticed it-- the dull throbbing in his chest. It was a barely-there ache, though present enough it disturbed his almost-slumber, drawing him from the depths of near-unconsciousness to stir wakefulness into his brain without the intention of ceasing. It shouldn’t have been immediate cause for concern-- Izaya was in good health, checked himself regularly for abnormalities in weight or heart rate, and so the chances of attack or disease were slim to none. Though, with this new predicament, his mind was unable to prevent itself from taking the path of least resistance-- to conclude that this was a fault of some sort by Shizuo. Had the other managed to come by injury in the less than two hours since Izaya had left their chamber of experimentation? It wasn’t something Izaya would doubt-- despite, or perhaps because of, his strength, pain wasn’t felt wholly by the other, and so he was in constant minor injury. Though the deep-penetrating ache didn’t feel quite like a slice or a stab, and when the pain didn’t relieve itself within minutes, Izaya dialed the long-memorized number in annoyance.

“Shizu-chan, did you go about getting heartburn or something? Drank your milk too quickly, perhaps?” The taunting lilt was half-hearted, punctuated by a sigh as Izaya pinched the bridge of his nose with the hand unoccupied by the phone.

For a moment there was only silence on the opposite end of the line, and Izaya figured the other would likely hang up in embarrassment from being called out, confirming his suspicions that he had done something foolish or idiotic. Briefly the thought that Shizuo might have done the action causing the ache in his chest purposefully crossed his mind, though he quickly dismissed it under the guise Shizuo wasn’t nearly intelligent enough for such a sabotaging plan, even if only to cause discomfort in Izaya. Though hadn’t Shinra said the pain was halved because of their connection? Perhaps he had forgotten that bit.

“Eh? Izaya-kun, did you just call to ask if I drank milk too fast? Why would you ask that-- what the hell is wrong with you?” There was a rustling on the other end, most likely of fabric, and silence once more; not even the heaviness of breathing to confirm the other’s physical presence. Nothing aside the lowness of his voice.

“Have you forgotten what our dear friend Shinra did to us not three hours ago?” Candy-sweet condescension dripped from Izaya’s tone like the warmth of melted caramel sliding off an apple on Halloween eve.

“No.”

Dejection underlined Shizuo’s one-syllable answer much more thinly than the anger Izaya was expecting, though it wasn’t as if angering the other was his current goal. Curiosity and perturbedness had motivated this phone call, not boredom and delightedness.

“Well, since you seem incapable of putting two and two together, I’ll be more clear-- my chest hurts, and I was wondering what you did.”

“Eh? I didn’t  _ do _ anything. You’re always blaming everything on me. It’s probably your fault in the first place, you parasite.” 

“Maybe you  _ have  _ a parasite. Wouldn’t that be funny.” There was a dry bark of laughter that crinkled to static across the line, loud enough Izaya drew away marginally from the phone to avoid having his ears hurt as well-- another pain caused by Shizuo. 

“Shizu-chan, Shizu-chan,” Izaya drawled, letting the syllable of the “i” extend before curtly drawing the other’s nickname to a close. “What will it take for you to take some responsibility around here?”

“There’s nothing to be responsible for! Not that you’d know the meaning of that word, anyway, since all you do is mess shit up and lie and lie and lie. You’ve never taken responsibility for anything in your life, you piece of shit.” The other’s tone was rising toward the horizon of anger like the sun glowing red-hot in the sky, and Izaya pictured Shizuo’s grip tightening to a clench around the phone in his hand that was likely breaking as they spoke. 

Letting the conversation continue to shift towards taunt and insult, perhaps in some desire to prove Shinra’s statement that they couldn’t be enemies wrong-- after all, verbal aggression didn’t result in pain-- the beginnings of a jeer were stopped from rolling off of Izaya’s tongue by an uncharacteristic interruption from Shizuo as the other’s voice faded to calm, as if the sunrise had been reversed back to moonlight by a miracle beyond miracles.

“Wait. Shut up for a second, you shitty bastard. You said your chest is hurting, but I don’t feel anything. Are you making this shit up just to bother me? This ridiculous “Kizuna” stuff is already enough, I don’t need you taking advantage of that for a lame-ass prank.” And just like that, the forces turning back the clock had set it in forward motion again, though from Izaya’s perception it was still moving rather more slowly than was customary. 

“Nonsense. If I feel it then you have to feel it. We both felt when Shinra cut your hand-”

“Yeah, we did. But I don’t feel anything right now except pissed off by you! Figure this out yourself.” A click on the other end signified the end of the conversation that hadn’t granted any insight to Izaya about the reasoning beyond the weightedness against his chest. Slumping back against the arm of the couch, Izaya extended his legs and let the phone fall to his lap; it bounced off the bone of his thigh with just enough force to not bruise, causing a dull pain to settle there as Izaya imagined Shizuo cursing under his breath back in Ikebukuro as his entirely more muscular upper leg began to throb slightly. Perhaps the other would even wince-- it served him right for not being truthful in regards to whatever was causing the ache in Izaya’s chest. 

The ache he was pretending had not just become worse.


End file.
